


never look away

by tansybells



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Fódlan Setting (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, Faerie!Marianne, Fairy Deals and Loopholes, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of Moon Imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells
Summary: and like a love-sick lennan-sheeshe has my heart in thrall,nor life I owe nor libertyfor love is lord of all.Marianne is torn between her love for her artist and her nature as a leannán sídhe, which commands her to take her artist's life.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	never look away

**Author's Note:**

> title from vienna teng's [_never look away_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWJE52G6mXo), summary from the irish song, [_my lagan love_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYT5NKAIYI8%22)

Marianne stood just behind Hilda’s chair, her head tilted to the side as she watched her artist paint. Hilda applied color to canvas as skillfully as she strung pearls on string, as delicately as she captured a likeness in clay, as carefully as she froze flowers in resin, and Marianne loved her for it.

Such was the curse of the leannán sídhe. Marianne found herself irresistibly drawn to artists and makers of all sorts, but never had she come across anyone so skilled— _blessed,_ perhaps—as Hilda Goneril.

And to think that Hilda had been capable of all that _before_ Marianne had attached herself to Hilda’s side, before Marianne had bestowed upon her the inspiration that was a leannán sídhe’s gift. But her gift—as did all gifts from the Fair Folk—came at a price. Marianne had begun to feed from the font of Hilda’s life force at the beginning of winter, and here, now, when autumn had begun to envelop the land in its cool embrace, she had already begun to notice the effects that her presence had.

Her cheeks were not as full as they had once been. Her hair, ever-pink as a rosebud, had begun to lose its luster. And Hilda was always, always cold. Marianne knew the signs. She knew that were she to linger around Hilda for much longer, her health—her very life itself—would only continue to wane.

Such was the eternal _gift_ of the leannán sídhe. Other artists to whom Marianne had been attracted had only lived so long as to produce one, sometimes a few, masterpieces. Their names had gone down in creative history, but in return, they had suffered early deaths. The good ones died young, so the romantic myths surrounding artists said, and Marianne and her ilk were to blame.

So many people had fallen to her insatiable muse. But Hilda, no, she was determined to make up for everything she’d ever done with Hilda. She was going to set aside her every nature, ignoring Hilda’s incessant creativity, and pray that she’d left soon enough that Hilda actually had a chance to continue living as though Marianne had never existed.

Hilda yawned; Marianne glanced over to her from where she hovered in the air. “Guess it’s time for bed,” she announced to no one in particular, though Marianne liked to pretend that she was talking to _her_. The artist glanced out the window of her living room, noted just how low the sun was sitting upon the horizon, and balked. “Shit, I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten!”

“You _have_ been painting all day,” Marianne said in turn, clasping her hands together behind her back. “And when you weren’t painting, you were working on those necklaces for your friends. They’re turning out very prettily, you know. I think they’ll love them.”

Hilda didn’t respond, as expected. It was rather impossible to respond to a conversation that one didn’t know was occurring, after all, and she had been wholly unaware of Marianne’s presence ever since the very moment Marianne had chosen her for her own.

“Do I have time to take a bath tonight?” Hilda mused aloud as she gathered her paintbrushes from the mason jar they’d been sitting in and bundled them up for washing. “It’s not like I did anything today, or even have anything to do tomorrow!”

You should definitely do it anyway,” Marianne said as she followed Hilda to the kitchen sink. Paint flowed down the drain in a swirl of color as Hilda started working the bristles clean. Marianne had to resist the urge to reach out and let the pigment flow over her fingers. She was invisible, yes, but that didn’t make her entirely incorporeal. She didn’t run the risk of Hilda bumping against her and revealing her presence, of course; even if Hilda did, all she'd feel would be a patch of air where the atmosphere was slightly heavier, before Marianne hurried out of her reach. That was all theory, unfortunately, because somehow, unbelievably, none of that contact had ever been made. Based on what Marianne understood of the delicate separation between them, though, even the gauze of magic obscuring Marianne from Hilda's presence wouldn’t be able to mask Marianne playing with the paint in the sink.

“Hm. I _do_ have those bath salts I haven’t used yet.” Hilda swirled the bristles of her brushes gently against her hand to check for any residual paint, and once she was satisfied with the cleanliness of her tools, set them aside to dry. “Maybe I should use those!”

“Yes, you should.” Marianne clapped her hands together, gladdened by Hilda’s decision. “I’ll leave you alone for that, then.” She had no need to watch Hilda bathe, for as enticing as the passing thought might have been, doing so would have crossed a line of which Marianne was terrified.

Yet all the same, there was nowhere else for her to be. So once Hilda got in the bath, Marianne spent her time wandering through the rest of the house. She tried to pick up little bits and pieces of Hilda’s mess as she went, making use of her limited corporeality to be as useful as possible. When she stepped back, though, brows furrowed as she surveyed her handiwork, she couldn’t determine whether she’d actually made any progress, or if she’d simply worsened the state of Hilda’s home.

She was, however, successful in her original goal of distracting herself while Hilda took part in what was no doubt a delightful bath. It wasn’t until Marianne heard the bathroom door open that she remembered that Hilda had been gone at all, and she hurried to check up on her human.

Steam billowed out of the bathroom, framing Hilda’s towel-wrapped body as she stepped back into her bedroom. Marianne blushed at the sight of Hilda’s flushed cheeks; the woman was a master of self-care, and Marianne could never be sure whether her rosiness was from the heat of her bath or from such expressions of loving herself.

Politely, Marianne turned around to give Hilda a moment of privacy to change. It was another of her uncrossable lines—she’d seen most of Hilda already by that point, considering the woman’s casual nature and the number of months in which they’d been cohabiting, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade Hilda’s privacy any longer.

Not even tonight, the last night on which she was going to remain in Hilda’s home, could she break that self-imposed rule.

Marianne sighed sadly. Having noticed the effects that her presence had been having on Hilda, there was no doubt in her mind that leaving right away was the correct thing to do, even if going so abruptly was against the nature of a leannán sídhe. Hilda found such _pleasure_ in the simple things of life, and she brought so much beauty into the world that Marianne couldn’t bring herself to wick Hilda’s life away a single day more.

Hilda’s mattress creaked, her phone _ding_ ed as it connected to her charger, and Marianne finally let herself look at Hilda once again. She was laying on her bed, on top of the blankets that covered it, with one arm behind her head as she scrolled through her phone with her other hand.

“That was nice,” Hilda said. “I should do that more often.”

“I’m sure it was.” Marianne smiled, and she could feel the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She was going to miss that about Hilda, how she had never felt truly invisible to her. Hilda’s talkative nature had always let her pretend that they were just roommates, perhaps more, and while she’d always known it wasn’t the case, it had been pleasant to be able to pretend. “It can’t have been as nice as our time together has been, though.”

“I wonder what tomorrow’s gonna be like.” Hilda set her phone face-down beside her. She sighed, and stared up at the ceiling.

“Better, I’m sure.” Marianne came closer to the bed, and knelt on the floor beside it. Setting her forearms on the mattress, she tilted her head to the side and let her cheek rest on her arms. “I hope you know how beautiful you are, Hilda. You’re an amazing artist, even without me here, and I can’t _wait_ to see what you do next.”

Lifting herself up from Hilda’s bed, Marianne tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and let herself lean in close to Hilda. Hilda’s breath remained steady, even as her eyes fluttered to a close, and Marianne took advantage of the peaceful moment to chastely kiss Hilda’s cheek.

It should have felt like nothing to Hilda, nothing more than a gentle puff of air. But Hilda stilled beneath her touch, and Marianne’s heart froze in turn.

She snapped upright and turned back towards the door that would lead one back to the main space of the house. As she gently brushed her fingers against her burning cheeks, her heart fluttered with an emotion she couldn’t define. Terror? Exhilaration? 

Whatever she felt, though, it was no use to try and examine it. If she didn’t leave now, she never would.

“But... I’ve got to go now,” Marianne said aloud, half to herself and half to Hilda, over her shoulder, as she lay in bed behind her. Her voice wavered despite the strength of her declaration; her heart broke despite the strength of her resolution. Yet she held her head high, she gritted her teeth, she squared her shoulders, and pinching her thumb and forefinger together, began to draw out the shapes of the runes that would ultimately bring her elsewhere.

Just where, she wasn’t sure. Her mind wasn’t clear enough for that; all she knew was that she needed to go, and she needed to go _now._ Before her hard-won resolve dissipated entirely.

With a deep breath, she completed her air-drawn runes, and as she completed a circle around them, she nudged her magic out from its special niche within her soul and sent it rolling out into the world. Altering the very tapestry of reality itself wasn’t as strenuous as the languidness of her movements would make it seem, not when the magic was more akin to pulling on a single thread

“Hey, where are you going?” Marianne froze mid-air as she heard Hilda’s voice behind her. The blue haze of her magic died before her spell could be completed. She frowned. No one else was there. Who could Hilda possibly be talking to?

“Yeah, no, I’m talking to you.” Hilda giggled. “The absolutely _gorgeous_ fairy lady, with the blue hair and the—you know, the wings. You think I can’t see you, don’t you?”

Marianne nodded, not daring to turn around and face her. Hilda wasn’t supposed to see her. No one that she—um, that she _chose_ was supposed to be able to see her. If Hilda had only just now begun to see her, then…

Then she needed to leave.

Marianne wrung her hands nervously; she glanced over her shoulder at the woman on the bed behind her. But to her horror, Hilda was no longer there.

“Because I can, you know.”

Toned, yet tender arms slid around her midsection from behind, wrapping her up in a playful embrace. Marianne covered her mouth with her hands at the sudden touch, but that wasn’t enough to fully muffle her nervous shriek, which only grew in volume as Hilda squeezed her close before letting her go. Lightly setting her hand on one of Marianne’s shoulders, the human spun Marianne around until finally, they saw each other face-to-face.

Hilda seemed pleased by the reaction that she’d elicited. With one hand on her hip and a smug expression on her face, she leaned in towards Marianne and looped a curl of blue hair around her finger.

“I’ve been able to see you since the very beginning,” she teased, glancing up from examining the curl of Marianne’s hair to Marianne’s reddening face. Unable to bring herself to meet Hilda’s eyes, Marianne looked away. 

Hilda had been able to see her from the start? Her stomach turned in on itself as she remembered everything she had ever said or done with Hilda, confident in her invisibility and inaudibility alike. Was that why they had never brushed up against each other until now?

“Y-you should have said something,” Marianne mumbled as the resolve she had built up began to crumble away. “I wouldn’t have haunted you for so long if I’d known.”

Then, against every good and righteous instinct that ran through her very blood ,she allowed herself a single glance at the face of the artist standing before her.

Just as she’d seen so many times, Hilda’s eyes were filled with stars, a shimmer of adoration that should rightfully have been directed towards one of Hilda’s muses. But that adoration seemed to belong to her and her alone, and the embarrassment was nearly too much to bear.

Marianne buried her face in her hands. She had to leave. She had no choice. But it didn’t seem to matter how many times she reminded herself of that single,simple fact, not when Hilda looked at her so earnestly. She needed to leave. But perhaps more pressingly, after she had made that crucial mistake of meeting Hilda’s eyes, she wanted, oh so desperately _wanted,_ nothing more than to stay.

“Why would _that_ change anything?” Hilda giggled. “What’re you, shy or something?”

Marianne didn’t lift her eyes to look at Hilda again, only shook her head in response to her question. It was one thing to know that she was leeching the life away from a beautiful woman, she wanted to cry out to her. It was something else entirely, however, to know that she had been doing so with said woman’s full knowledge. She was horrible. A monster. A parasite. A—

Her self-berating was interrupted by Hilda letting go of the coil of Marianne’s hair and placing her hands atop Marianne’s. With a gentleness that wrapped loosely around Marianne’s heart like a red cord, Hilda pulled Marianne’s hands away from her face and held them in her own.

“It’s _okay,_ ” Hilda said with a smile so bright that Marianne could see its beauty even through the tears that clouded her vision. “I'm not scary."

“Hilda, that’s not—” Marianne tried to interject, turning her head to the side, but Hilda just held her hands tighter, and brought them up close to her chest.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her eyes shining. “Like, you _obviously_ know mine. But I don’t know yours! How unfair is that?”

“I don’t—”

“Please?”

Hilda’s lower lip trembled; her eyes filled with tears. Marianne had been around her long enough to know that they were crocodile tears, but despite that, she found her emotions swayed.

“You can call me, um, Marianne,” she relented, her voice trembling. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. _Marianne._ ” The sight of Hilda’s smile lifted a burden from Marianne’s heart. The sound of her name upon Hilda’s lips was a song, a wish Marianne felt compelled to fulfill. And despite being so close already, Hilda stepped forward. So entranced by the unfamiliar sound of her name as she was, Marianne didn’t move away. All she could do was stare at the gentle curve of Hilda’s lips, the way they opened and formed the sweetness of her never-spoken name.

And then those lips were on hers.

Hilda kissed her like there was no hope for another tomorrow, like she could somehow reclaim the life force that Marianne had siphoned away from her through such a simple connection. But instead of taking away from Marianne, as expected, it felt almost as though she was pouring herself into Marianne as the faerie woman melted against her.

Soft hands lifted to cradle the curve of her cheek, the line of her chin, and for a brief moment, Marianne felt _full_ . Like the hollowness that permeated her entire being had somehow been completely negated, now that she shared this touch with Hilda that she’d been desiring for so long, that she’d been _denying_ for so long.

But just as she let herself lean into Hilda, realization struck her like a bolt from the blue. What was she doing? Why was she allowing herself to fall prey so easily to the whims of the woman she’d been killing?

She dragged herself away from the soft velvet of Hilda’s kiss with a heart full of regret. Hilda followed her, as if to desperately maintain that connection between them, but Marianne set her finger down on Hilda’s lips, definitive, and held her away.

“You’re really planning to leave me, aren’t you?” Hilda’s voice cracked beneath Marianne’s touch; Marianne’s eyes flickered down to see that tears had begun to roll down Hilda’s cheeks.

Only then did it dawn upon Marianne that perhaps, she truly wasn’t the only person who would be crushed by what she was about to do. It wasn’t fair to Hilda that she had stayed for as long as she had, sucking away her vivacity for her own gain, and offering only the paltry reward of _inspiration_ in return.

As though anything Hilda created could somehow compare to the beauty of the artist herself.

Slowly, regretfully, Marianne let her hand fall away from Hilda’s lips. She no longer had the strength to keep her head held high, and her gaze found its home on the ground.

“Marianne?” Hilda whispered. “Marianne, _please_ say something.”

“I—I have to go,” Marianne murmured, setting a hand on Hilda’s chest, and attempting to push herself away from the human woman. But Hilda set her hands firmly on her hips, which prevented Marianne from successfully flying up and away. Frustrated, Marianne cried out, “Hilda, you don’t understand! Just me being here, it’s _killing_ you.”

“And?” Hilda lifted a brow.

“ _And_?” Marianne wanted nothing more than to weep. The only thing that held her back, however, was the deep-set feeling that allowing herself to cry would only give Hilda the upper hand. Marianne hadn’t been seen for years, decades even, and she’d lingered on the periphery of Hilda’s presence for long enough to understand Hilda’s mastery of human emotion. “What more is there to it? You’re _dying,_ Hilda, and it’s my fault, and I don’t know that I can—”

Pushing herself up on her toes, Hilda crashed her lips against Marianne’s once again. Marianne wrinkled her nose as their front teeth clacked together, but Hilda just giggled against her mouth. Marianne gasped at the subtle vibration that thrummed through her.

The kiss was more tenacious than the first one, but just as desperate. No longer was Hilda playing with her life force. Instead, it felt like Hilda was so desperate for Marianne to stay that she wanted to overwhelm Marianne with every bit of the affection she held for her.

And it nearly did overwhelm her. At first, Marianne had been skeptical. How could someone _want_ so desperately for her to stay, when they’d never held a conversation in the months that Marianne had haunted her? How could Hilda want _her_?

Then, she considered what made _her_ longing any different? The only thing separating her love from Hilda’s was the fact that Hilda had known she was there all along.

She was a faerie. Perhaps, it was only right that she paid Hilda back for her gift.

Hesitantly, tentatively, Marianne pressed back against Hilda, deepening the kiss between them; Hilda lifted her arms up and let them fall over Marianne’s shoulders in a loose embrace. Yet to Marianne’s surprise, Hilda pulled away without explanation and instead pressed her forehead against Marianne’s.

“Stay with me,” Hilda breathed as she lowered her heels back to the ground, her eyes glazed over with sorrow. Her mouth dry, her heart fluttering with a desperate want that she couldn’t articulate, Marianne nodded.

Hilda laughed joyously, the chime of her voice the sweetest song to Marianne’s ears, and Marianne found herself chuckling along. With a strength belied by her slender frame and slight stature, Hilda picked her up and brought her back to the bed that Marianne had once been so eager to abandon.

* * *

Faeries had no need of sleep. Yet, curled up in Hilda’s embrace after an experience that, frankly, Marianne had _never_ expected to have, she found her limbs heavy with a fatigue completely foreign to her. Even so, she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of remaining in bed.

She’d given herself hours after their intercourse concluded to make up her mind, and she’d spent all of those hours in some sort of twilight haze, staring out the panes of Hilda’s bedroom window as Hilda slumbered beside her. But over the course of all those hours, the moonlight slowly taking its arced course over their intertwined bodies, she had yet to actually move out of Hilda’s bed.

With a deep breath, she shifted slightly. She lifted her chin to look at Hilda, who slept in a surprisingly undignified manner that never failed to bring a smile to her face.

“Hilda,” she whispered fondly. Truth be told, it didn’t matter that the woman was still sprawled across the bed, her chest gently rising and falling as she slept, Marianne still felt the need to inform her dreaming lover of the laws which moved her.

“I really do have to go now,” Marianne whispered as she unraveled herself from Hilda’s firm grasp and the silent flutter of her wings lifted her into the air.

Freed, she allowed herself a moment to float over Hilda. She briefly marveled at the way the length of her blue curls idly coiled across Hilda’s chest when offered the chance to fall prey to gravity; she brushed the back of her hand against the smoothness of Hilda’s cheek.

Hilda deserved life. It was the final gift that Marianne could bestow upon her, considering all of the love she’d like to think that they shared.

Yet before she could pull her hand away and leave the human for good, Marianne gasped as a hand came out of nowhere and clenched around her wrist. The hold was strong but delicate, just as Hilda herself was, and when she looked up in terror, Marianne realized that at some point, Hilda’s eyes had opened. Droopy, half-lidded with the lingering remnants of sleep, Hilda looked at her with eyes that sparkled like the clearest of quartz in the moonlight.

“Please,” Hilda whispered. Marianne knew without doubt that Hilda was going to repeat herself once again. She steeled herself in preparation to turn Hilda down for the last time, but nothing could have readied her for the steady stream of tears that fell down the soft curve of Hilda’s face and stained the pillowcase beneath her head. “Please, Marianne. Stay with me.” Her voice broke, “I need you.” 

Marianne shook her head, her eyes screwed tightly shut. She couldn’t look at Hilda, she knew. It would break her heart. “I—”

“Then make me a promise.” Marianne opened her eyes upon hearing a new edge in Hilda’s voice, only to meet Hilda’s sharp gaze. Despite the sleep that still blurred her voice, Hilda spoke with a determination and desperation that shook Marianne to her very core. “You’re a faerie, right? That means that you like promises, right? Don’t you?”

Tongue-tied, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in Hilda’s behavior, Marianne nodded dumbly.

Incited by Marianne’s answer, Hilda pulled herself up in bed and propped herself on an elbow. Marianne gasped and tried to pull away, but Hilda looped one arm around Marianne’s neck and held her close. So close, in fact, that despite her ability to fly, Hilda’s forehead was pressed firmly to Marianne’s.

“Then promise me this, Marianne,” Hilda said with an unfamiliar solemnity, “that you’ll stay with me until—until—” Her gaze shifted towards her bedroom window for the briefest of moments; Marianne wrung her hands nervously as Hilda met her eyes once again. And, letting Marianne’s neck go, Hilda pointed out through the window, towards the cherry tree that stood proudly outside Hilda’s bedroom. “That you’ll stay with me until the last leaf falls off of that branch.” 

“What?” Marianne recoiled, clutching her hand to her chest. “Hilda, that doesn’t—why do you—”

She looked out the window, at the way the tree gently swayed in the breeze and knocked its branches against the glass.

Hilda’s request mystified her. It made no sense. Hilda had been very clear about how badly she wanted Marianne to stay with her—but why would she choose such an arbitrary measure of time? The tree could be knocked over, cut down, it could be completely eaten through by some horrendous parasite and killed within the week.

Yet at the same time, how much harm would she bring to Hilda by agreeing to such a seemingly innocuous request? Marianne had been haunting Hilda since the beginning of the year, after all, and it was only now, at the beginning of autumn, that Hilda had really started to show the signs of the exhaustion and fatigue that characterized Marianne’s extended presence. Would allowing herself to spend a few more weeks with Hilda really be so devastating?

She inhaled deeply, her eyes shut tight, and then opened her eyes and locked them with Hilda’s. “Very well. Give me your name, Hilda.”

“But you know it already,” Hilda teased, but she became somber once again at the sight of Marianne’s frown. Then, she sighed and gave it to her. “Hilda _Valentine_ Goneril.”

Marianne’s lips curled up in the beginnings of a satiated, primal smile. Faerie magic, ancient and unspeakable, welled up within her body and overflowed in her words. “Hilda Valentine Goneril.”

Hilda shuddered at the sound of her middle name, her secret name, falling from the lips of the very creature it was supposed to protect her from. Time may have passed, humanity may have forgotten the reason for having a middle name, but the fae never had. _Marianne_ never had.

So Marianne said her name again, her voice laden with power, and delighted in the way Hilda trembled beneath her. “I will stay at your home, _Valentine_ , until the last leaf falls from the low-hanging branch of the cherry tree that knocks against the glass of your bedroom window in the wind. I will not always be in your presence, but I will be _here,_ and that will have to be enough.” She hesitated. “In return, I shall take all of your memories of our time together when I go.”

Hilda jolted as Marianne laid out the unexpected expansion to the deal that she herself had proposed. “Hey! Why the hell would you do that?”

“That’s how a faerie bargain is struck,” Marianne somberly informed her, even as her heart broke for it. “You never get exactly what you want, Hilda; do you understand?”

Hilda opened her mouth, like she intended to deliver some sort of painful retort, then closed it. She looked away from Marianne with a heavy frown and a furrowed brow. Not to be deterred, Marianne pressed further. “If you refuse, then perhaps it would be a better idea for me to just—”

“It’s a deal.” Hilda spoke clearly and succinctly, like any concern she might have had had been overshadowed by the thought of Marianne leaving her right then and there. “I agree, okay? I agree.” She spoke so quickly that she began to stumble across her words. “What else do I have to do?”

“That’s it.” Marianne smiled, her lips thin-pressed with worry. “The terms are set.” Pressing one clenched fist against her chest, Marianne set her palm on the middle of Hilda’s, where her skin was left bare by the plunging neckline of her pajamas. She nudged her magic out from where it sat inside her mind, prompting it to roll across her shoulder and down her arm.

“I, Marianne, will adhere to the terms of this pact set forth between myself and Hilda Valentine Goneril.” Her magic reached her fingertips. As soon as it left her body and touched the air, it arched and swirled in gentle, periwinkle blooms and blossoms. “Should I violate this pact, any way I should hope to benefit from this pact shall be immediately forfeit.”

Marianne let her eyes fall shut, and she sighed heavily at the weight of the choice she was making. “So mote it be,” she whispered gravely. In response to her words, the magic that had surged around her hand fell, like tiny particles of dust onto the bare skin of the woman beneath her.

Hilda exhaled in awe as the faerie magic washed over her, the faint blue glimmer of Marianne’s essence flickering over her skin until it finally soaked into her skin. “See?” she sighed, finally relaxing back against the pillow beneath her as she smiled dreamily at the woman floating above her. “Was that _really_ so hard, Marianne?”

Yet despite the lighthearted, capricious nature of her smile, Marianne had been around Hilda long enough to notice the way that relief and devastation mingled together in Hilda’s eyes.

“Harder than you think,” Marianne mumbled with a languid blink or two. She let herself fall down onto the bed, right into Hilda’s open, waiting arms, and nuzzled up against the softness her lover—and now contractor—provided willingly. Hilda wrapped her up tightly in her embrace, and Marianne’s eyes fell shut.

“Are you okay, Marianne?”

“I, um, I will be.”

“Huh.” Hilda was silent for a few moments, and Marianne’s mind began to float away in the moonlight. Making such a contract was completely new for her, given her parasitic nature, and she found herself worn out despite the lack of physical exertion. 

Minutes passed before Hilda spoke again.

“Hey, Marianne?”

Marianne hummed to let Hilda know that she was indeed listening. Accepting it easily, Hilda continued.

“How come you didn’t have to use your middle name?” she asked. “I mean, you asked for mine. And you used it in the whole, uh,” she gestured helplessly in the air above her, “thing. But you didn’t.”

“I don’t have one.” Marianne sighed and, lifting her head, pulled her hair out from underneath her before settling back down to use Hilda’s arm as a pillow. “Some faeries might, but, um, leannán sídhe like me don’t since we’re on our own all the time. At least, I think we don’t. _I_ don’t. I—”

“Calm down, calm down,” Hilda laughed, her usual joy muted by a slowly growing sleepiness. “It wasn’t an accusation, cutie. I was just curious.” Slowly, leisurely, she drew circles on the bare skin of Marianne’s back. Marianne rolled her shoulders at the touch; it was truly unfamiliar to have another person touching skin so close to the base of her wings. And it wasn’t as though it was _unpleasant,_ not by any means, but considering the vast magic that she had just worked, she didn’t have the energy necessary to fully embrace those feelings. 

Neither did Hilda, apparently, because the longer Marianne lay there, basking in the gentle silence of a moonlit night, the slower Hilda’s breath became, until it became apparent that Hilda had fallen asleep.

Marianne made no attempt to pry herself out of Hilda’s touch, not this time. Not only had she promised to remain by Hilda’s side, but now that she had been gifted an excuse to stay there in the embrace of her gentle affection, she could not bring herself to move.

All she could do was stare at the branch outside the window as it swayed side to side in the wind, wait, and wonder just how long she had before either Hilda or the branch withered away for good.

**Author's Note:**

> ah, i was so happy to get this brainworm out. my eternal gratitude to [Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooming_spiderlily) for her beta work and just. everything, really. not a lot gets written by me that she doesn't have a hand in oops
> 
> if the whole thing with the leannán sídhe confuses you, feel free to drop a question! i'm by no means an expert, but i've got the gist of it, i think. and maybe come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tansybells) if you feel like it! i've got some nice stuff planned out for the rest of the month, and the second part of this should hopefully be up somewhere along the line~~
> 
> thanks for reading! ♡


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